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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739249">Dance With Me Til’ The End</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter'>CaptainJimothyCarter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Avengers &amp; Marvel Fluff Bingo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Big Hug, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MCU Bingo, Peggy Carter Needs a Hug, Steggy - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:09:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds a way, even after his death, to give Peggy the life she deserves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peggy Carter &amp; Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Avengers &amp; Marvel Fluff Bingo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dance With Me Til’ The End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Slight WV spoiler: Seeing a gif of Wanda holding the deed to her and Vis's home brought this out.</p><p>For MCU Bingo: Don't leave me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s a knock on the door that drags Peggy from her task, looking up to find Dugan standing in the doorway with a bundle of clothes under his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He would want you to have it,” he tells her, passing the bundle over to her. He presses them harder into her hands at the skeptical look she gives him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What on earth would she do with Steve’s old clothes? They smelled of must and </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and while the sedimental value made her heart leap into her throat, she had to resist the cold, empty feeling in her stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing he wore before - well before his untimely death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was nothing, far as she was aware, sedimental about the sweater. He’d bought it in a shop while in London, after complaining of the cold. He looked good in the gray, wool sweater, something about the muted colors brought out his baby blue eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He promised to wear it on their date.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Their date. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearing her throat, Peggy tightens her arms around the bundle and hugs it to her chest. “Thank you, Dugan,” is all she can say, thankful they’re alone in the SSR archives. She’s meant to be putting away files and securing them for their travel back to American soil.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All Dugan does is nod his head, the bowler hat he always wears just about falls off. “We’re finishing up upstairs, when you want a ride back to the hotel, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For all his goof and clumsiness, Dugan can read her like a book sometimes. He knows when to leave her alone and knows when to invade her space despite how she doesn’t want it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second he’s gone, Peggy buries her face into the bundle and breathes Steve in. She wants to cry but she can’t allow herself that luxury, not until she’s alone in her motel room with a bottle of whiskey to help numb the pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sweater crinkles as she moves to set it down, a thick, stained envelope falling from it. It made sense now why Dugan insisted she takes it. Far as she understood, a fallen soldier’s possessions were either given to the next of kin or to his fellow soldiers, depending on the situation. Steve had no family alive but he was a special case, his things, as his body in the SSR’s eyes, belonged to them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were supposed to be packed up last week and sent to DC, to be locked away for good, she supposed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now she understood Dugan’s urgency in the last few weeks to return to base and why he scurried around the camp with Gabe and Jim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picking up the envelope, Peggy frowns at the stained paper. She can barely read Steve’s name scribbled in his hurried fashion. Just barely below it in faint pencil, she can </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>make out her name in much neater handwriting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you do, Steve?” Peggy finds herself whispering, eyes starting to burn with unshed tears. Her fingers tremble as she opens up the contents, pulling out equally stained paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever this was, it was clear Steve carried it with him everywhere. It was his pride and joy, amongst the compass that held her picture in it. The compass he carried with him to a watery grave, but not this? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What changed?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She almost doesn’t want to open it, she can’t bring herself to, everything in her mind screams at her </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. It’s invading his privacy but it’s her right to, isn’t it? Her name was written across the contents, however faint it was. Steve would want her to look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first paper she pulls out makes her heart skip a beat, a hand covering her mouth to stop the loud gasp. It’s a deed for a home in Brooklyn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right on the page, just below the house that would be theirs, is a crudely sketched heart, and inside reads, </span>
  <em>
    <span>To grow old together - SR</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t need to see the rest of the pages to know about the house, the land, the neighborhood, or the receipt as to how Steve paid for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All she can do is cling to the paper and feel her legs give out, hitting the seat hard. She ignores the few files that scatter around her, its contents spilling onto the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve had always wanted to own a home, a big one, he’d always tell her. One big enough to host their friends and family in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Theirs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To ride his bike around the neighborhood and not worry about cars. One with a garden that he could feed the whole neighborhood with. One that he, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>they, </span>
  </em>
  <span>could build their life together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He might as well be drunk as much as he’s smiling. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much but it’s not a pain she’ll take in bane. She loves how excited he is, how he has a childlike wonder as he explains the sketches on his pad in the middle of this crowded bar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’ll have three-no four rooms. Four, Pegs!” His fingers run over the sketches, smearing pencil in his wake. “The master bedroom, the guest rooms, and-and…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kids?” Peggy asks in a soft tone that makes him pick his head up from his sketch pad. His lips pursed together in a manner that tells her he’s thinking, the tips of his ears turning pink. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kids,” he agreed, ignoring the flush flooding his face. “Multiple.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just a few,” she laughs, looking back down at the pad. “What’s this room?” Her finger brushes over a room that’s directly below everything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The basement, I was thinking we could turn it into a set of offices or an art room if we…” He shrugs his shoulders, gesturing to the merry, drunk soldiers around them. A battle well won, a battle amongst many that was to come.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her fingers cover his and give a gentle squeeze, quickly pulling away before anyone could see it. “I love it. Brightly lit, plenty of windows. A large backyard. I’m afraid I disagree with the garden. Gardens and I do not mix well.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her lips twitch into a smile as Steve laughs, it’s echoing around them but lost in the loud chatter of the crowds. “Oh come on, why not?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know very well I don’t mind getting dirty, but I kill every plant I touch, besides, rabbits and I do not agree. I’ve never met a rabbit that didn’t try to bite me.” Peggy huffs and rolls her eyes as Steve snorts into his beer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll do the gardening then and the cooking since you don’t like to cook and-” He stops at her pensive look. “What?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can cook, mister. I-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pegs, you burned the only canister that we had to cook in. You burned water!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I take resentment to that. I didn’t do a thing. It’s Jones that left the canister on the fire for far too long while I searched for the coffee.” This time, she can’t help but to laugh as he’s snorting again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’d never thought she’d find snorting adorable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or that she’d miss it on the too-quiet nights.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So,” Peggy sighed, pointing to the living room. “How big are we thinking?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Steve’s baby blue eyes look up to hers from across the small table, his fingertips brushing over hers as he sets the pad down. “Enough to go dancing in.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s still there,” Dernier whispered, tapping his fingers on the papers in front of her. He raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, passing a whiskey in her direction. “The house - it’s officially </span>
  <em>
    <span>his. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not sure how this stuff works but I know he told Barnes that it’s to go to you if something happens to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That man had a lot of faith in you surviving this war over any of us,” Juniper grunts, downing the rest of his whiskey and spinning around on the stool so he was leaning over Peggy’s shoulder to look at the paper. “Good faith too, because he was right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can’t help but shoot him a look and Juniper grunts, giving an apologetic one back. She knows he’s right but it still stings to be reminded that Steve’s gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve had planned their whole life together and wanted to surprise her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She washed down the tears with the shot of whiskey, looking back down at the deed. “I can’t believe he did this without telling me. That man couldn’t lie to save his life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He wanted to tell you but I don’t think he ever saw there was a good moment,” Jones sighed, taking a swig of the beer as he stood in front of them. “If it’s one thing, Peggy, Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>you and he wanted to give you the life you deserved - even after his death.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The house is exactly as Steve had described it those many years ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s on the edge of the city, in a welcoming suburb, with friendly neighbors who wave at her as she exits the car. As she looks up at the house, Peggy suddenly wishes she hadn’t told the Howlies and Howard that she needed to do this alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy steals a breath as she looks up at the house, studying the red front-door and the baby blue shudders. The only thing missing from the picture-perfect house was the white-picket-fence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walking up to the house, Peggy smiles at the two-people swing, watching it sway in the wind. The key is as Howard had said, secured under a fake plant by the door. Honestly, had she not taught Steve anything?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought dies as she opens the door, her heart dropping straight to her feet. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Steve had envisioned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beautiful hardwood floors that opened up to a large living room. Perfect for dancing in front of the bay window. The kitchen was </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So blood perfect. She could picture herself burning eggs and Steve laughing as he took over cooking breakfast. His hip hitting hers as he washed the dishes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could see them sitting at the dining room table, going over bills, as a domestic couple. She could see life happening in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could see them dancing in the living room, a radio would be on the window ledge, filling the living room with sweet-sounding music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could see their </span>
  <em>
    <span>life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took all her willpower to get her feet to move, slowly trailing into the sunroom. Here she could see them spending countless hours, listening to the rain splattering against the screen windows. They’d sit on the rocking chairs and chat about their day, a tea in hand. Steve would always burn the tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So bloody American.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he’d try just to get her to smile, just to get it right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her feet took her up the stairs, into </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>bedroom. It was absolutely beautiful despite the whole house was without furniture. There was something about the mute, mint green walls and the floor-to-ceiling windows that just screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their windows offered a beautiful view of the backyard, filled with lush green grass. Steve wanted a garden out there, a large one to feed the neighborhood. Always his desire to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>more. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To make sure no one else had to suffer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart ached, a few tears running down her face as she held the deed tighter to her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was perfect.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It must’ve been over an hour before Peggy found the strength to get herself downstairs, by then the sun had started to set.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took her longer than she’d liked to admit to realize that she was not alone in the living room. A figure stood in the open doorway, blocking the sunlight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she could even pull her gun out, he stepped forward, the familiar </span>
  <em>
    <span>clang </span>
  </em>
  <span>of metal hitting the floor preventing her from drawing her gun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flashed to the familiar red, white, and blue shield rocking on the floor, eyes darting up to that familiar face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart just </span>
  <em>
    <span>froze, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as did every muscle in her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grief. This was just grief, her mind was playing tricks on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only face she wanted to see, that she needed to see. Something in her made her hold the deed tighter, not wanting to part with it, not wanting to believe that this was real. Grief did crazy things to one’s mind, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t be alive. Howard even had admitted it after reluctantly being pulled back from searching after three days. He’d immediately gone back out on his own accord. He couldn’t even find Steve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His greatest regret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had only been over a month.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be Steve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet as he took a timid step forward, the silence was only broken by his ragged breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re here,” he breathed, shaking his shaggy hair. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I-I had hope Dugan had given the-the deed to you. I-I-should’ve...I had...you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just gives a strained laugh, finally stepping closer so she could take him in. He looks terrible, with black bags under his eyes, a shallow face. But he’s alive and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s that twinkle in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to touch her, she can see his hand twitching, desperate to wrap around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she’s imagining it, maybe it’s grief getting to her but Peggy </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. She should stop and question him, but every part of her, every fiber of her being tells her that this is Steve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is the love of her life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy swallows the thousand and one questions she should ask and takes the first step forward, the papers still held tightly in her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re alive,” she breathes, eyes raking over his ragged form. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ragged. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve looks terrible, exhausted, and in desperate need of a shower. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All she could do was stare up at him as he closed the distance between them, his hands warm as they cupped her face. All she could think about was how </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was and how the open door was letting a draft in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All she could think about as they kissed was how salty his lips tasted, not a dry eye in the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her arms circle around him, tightening around his neck and shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please don’t leave me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peggy whispers in his ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t ever leave me again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s arms tighten around her, kissing her temple. “I promise,” he whispers. “I’ll never leave you again, Peggy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I swear it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
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